


Drowning

by Gourmet



Series: tread lightly round a faerie circle [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Consensual Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gourmet/pseuds/Gourmet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The part of him that wouldn’t have batted a lash at making demands of Hermann before was now wary, still caught up in the echo of screams in the back of his mind, snippets of memories that were never meant to be his. But they were there now, and short of carving them out – along with a healthy chunk of skull and brain matter – they were there to stay. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> This directly follows [Bargaining](http://archiveofourown.org/works/968857). I really hope nobody was expecting this to be a feel good series...

“I’m not leaving without my samples,” Newton stated.

It was the bravest thing he’d managed to do since he had been given enough space to escape the chalkboard. The part of him that wouldn’t have batted a lash at making demands of Hermann before was now wary, still caught up in the echo of screams in the back of his mind, snippets of memories that were never meant to be his. But they were there now, and short of carving them out – along with a healthy chunk of skull and brain matter – they were there to stay.

But brave or no, it was also a selfish request. It was an unspoken knowledge throughout the Shatterdome that, one way or another, they’d been working on borrowed time. Eventually they were going to be cut off and shut down, and the only variable was who would be responsible – kaiju or the good ole governments of the world. The drop hadn’t come yet, not officially, but warnings were there in the way they sent their thanks and congratulations. They’d eliminated the threat. It was all over thanks to them. And weren’t they looking forward to going home and putting this all behind them?

It was probably only a matter of another week or so before the hints became commands and personnel in dark suits came to relieve them of their files. Newton knew all this, but that work he’d done, his studies on the kaiju – that was ten years of his life, man. And there was no guarantee they were actually gone for good. He needed to start new tests – what levels of radiation could kaiju tissue withstand? Was it as decimating for them as his own organic material? And Newton knew that nobody in the Shatterdome could help him (or probably would help him) maintain his samples of their fallen enemies.

Except,  perhaps, for Hermann.

Newton knew that there really wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do at this point to avoid the inevitable, and really, nobody hated his kaiju materials more than Hermann. When he’d made that bold statement, Hermann had wrinkled his nose in such a familiar expression of disgust that it had actually eased the panicked tension in Newton’s muscles a bit. This _was_ still Hermann, dammit, and he wasn’t going to get anywhere by letting himself be made weak and cowed by some hair gel and a tailored suit.

“Short of whatever Hannibal Chau’s crew salvaged from Otachi, this is the last of it. And if they come back, we’re gonna be shit out of luck if nobody bothers to keep learning about them,” he pressed, passion for work overriding his nerves and better judgment. Hermann looked away from his disaster of an examination table and considered him. His eyes were sharp and clear and not quite the same color Newton remembered them being before, and the silence reigned heavy and uncomfortable between them. Eventually, the intensity of Hermann’s stare made the back of his neck itch, and Newton squirmed where he stood. Hermann smirked, briefly.

“Very well. You have two hours to prepare your…samples for travel and to gather your things.”

Newton stopped fidgeting and lifted his head. “Where are we going?”

“Two hours, Newton,” Hermann repeated, turning on the heel of an expensive looking shoe before guiding himself out of the lab, leaving Newton to his own devices.  
  


\---  
  


It wasn’t enough time. But then, Newton had known that from the start, and there was no way Hermann didn’t, so he spent two hours scrambling to get everything from his side of the lab at least back in the proper containers. He barely had enough time to throw clothes a few personal items into a duffle bag before Hermann was at his door. Yes, it was still Hermann, and yes he was trying to treat him as such, but Newton wasn’t an idiot. He was a fucking genius, actually, but the important part was that he was more socially aware than people gave him credit for. He didn’t necessarily always act on that awareness, but that was neither here nor there. This, the here and now, was a very dangerous time in their relationship, and not just because Newton now knew how dangerous Hermann was. There were things being re-established here.

Newton knew which buttons to press to set Hermann off. And now, he also knew that setting Hermann off right now probably wouldn’t resolve itself in a simple shouting match. Hermann had, essentially, agreed to illegally smuggle dangerous alien specimens from the PPDC for him – Newton wasn’t going to throw that back in his face by going over on time. He sure as hell didn’t want Hermann to change his mind, so when he smirked and told him, “Come along, then,” Newton did. No questions asked.

The questions couldn’t be withheld for long, though, and they eventually reared their heads. He managed to do less yapping than usual up until he found himself a mile above ground in a private jet. A private fucking jet. Where had it even come from!? “Okay. Where the hell are we going?”

Hermann glanced over at him for the first time since the plane had taken off. He was silent for several moments, as if debating whether or not to share that bit of information. Thankfully, he did. “London.”

“London?” Newton repeated, eyebrows winging up. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised by that, but he was. Glancing around the cabin, another thought struck him. “What about Berlin?”

The suggestion made Hermann’s jaw set and his eyes go steely. “No.”

There was a warning there, in the way he spoke, but the idea was in Newton’s head now, and he wasn’t ready to let it drop.

“Why not? My folks are there. Fuck, I haven’t emailed my mom in weeks. We should totally visit Berlin!”

Hermann shifted forward, folding his hands between his knees and fixing Newton with a cold stare. “You are not the only one with family in that city, Newton. So long as my father is there, you will not be.”

He scoffed. “Seriously, Hermann?”

“I am not joking, Newton. You will not be in the same city as Lars. That will be the last we speak of it.”

There was something quiet and most assuredly dangerous lurking in the set of Hermann’s shoulders and the coldness of his voice. Newton saw it, acknowledged it, but it wasn’t enough to keep his mouth shut. He scowled across the short distance between their seats. “Dude, I don’t give a shit if your dad is there. I can still go to –“

Newton didn’t see Hermann move. There was a crack of sound in the cabin and his head jerked to the side. And he had just a second or two to be aware of those things before heat and pain flushed across his cheek, sharp and sudden enough to tear a help from him and make his eyes water. _Fuck!_

He froze with his hand halfway up to his face when his chin was grabbed, his head forcefully turned back around to face Hermann. Hermann who had the same skin and skeletal structure Newton had known for ten years. Hermann who, in that moment, did not look at all like the man he’d worked with during that time. He’d seen Hermann angry plenty of times – livid even – but this was something else entirely, and anything perched on Newton’s tongue died a quick, strangled death.

“You belong to me now, Newton. You _will not_ be within a city of Lars Gottlieb. Do you understand?”

His voice was very low and very calm, but the fingers on Newton’s chin were threatening to bruise, and Newton finally realized what he was seeing. Possessiveness. Vicious, white hot fury stemming from a root of possession.

Newton swallowed hard and tried to speak. “B-Belong?” he repeated, disturbed by how much he was starting to understand about the situation. Things that he’d overlooked or refused to see before. That had been a horrendous mistake. “Hermann, I just –“

Hermann’s fingers tightened on his chin and jerked him forward, closer and down, nearly but not quite dragging Newton out of his chair, and from this angle, he was forced to look up over the rim of his glasses to keep his eyes on Hermann.

“I asked you a yes or no question, Newton. That is all I want to hear from you.”

A nervous breath stuttered out of him. He’d spent a lot of time over the last forty-eight hours in likely-to-kill-him type situations. Hannibal Chau’s knife threatening a frontal lobotomy through his nostril. Several guns arranged, cocked and loaded around his head. Chased down and very nearly eaten by _several_ kaiju. But despite all that, Newton got the sudden, gut wrenching sensation that this was the most dangerous position he’d let himself end up in.

“I…I understand,” he stammered. “I-I think?”

He flinched slightly when Hermann moved his hand from his chin to his cheek, but those fingers were light and cool against his sore skin, and it was only the throbbing reminder beneath them that kept Newton from tipping his head towards them. Hermann stroked the color that had spread across the side of his face anyway until Newton let out another unsteady breath.

“Good,” he said, lifting his other hand and nudging the edge of Newton’s glasses until they sat straight as opposed to sitting at the lopsided angle the slap and jerking around had knocked them into.

Newton wanted to be angry. Well, okay, actually, he was pretty fucking angry. But he was also scared. He didn’t necessarily want to own up to that part, but it was true. He was bright enough to figure out that a lot of whatever he hell had caused Hermann to snap came from the previously Always Avoided Topic that was Lars Gottlieb, so he made a mental note to not mention that guy any time soon.  That did not, however, make his face hurt any less or put his nerves any less on end. He was 100% not cool with being slapped around, but he was also 100% sure that saying so would get him slapped again.

When a few more moments passed in thick silence, Newton finally shifted to slowly leverage himself up and back into his seat. Hermann didn’t stop him, only looked on with a bemused expression. He’d seen that expression before, too. Not as often, but once in a while. And before, even when it usually only turned up when Hermann felt he had proven some point or when he seemed to think Newton was making an idiot out of himself, he’d always been secretly kind of fond of the look. It had been cute in a “Hermann never smiles and that’s kind of close” sort of way.

Now, staring back at him, the expression sent a nervous chill down his spine, and Newton wasn’t too proud to be the first to look away, staring out the window at the roll of clouds passing underneath them.

He didn’t look up when Hermann hummed, a pleased, approving sort of noise, and settled upright and back as well.

Newton didn’t ask any other questions during the flight.  
  


\---  
  


It didn’t take much for Newton to decide he really hated London. Yeah, the place they were living in was nice, and there was some really interesting stuff in the city, and if he was honest, there was a part of him that suspected he’d have really loved this place under different circumstances. But the circumstances weren’t different, and he really fucking hated it.

He’d never cared what people thought of him before, and nobody ever had anything original to complain about. He was too loud or too obnoxious, too opinionated or had too much ink, boo hoo, cry him a river. But there was something about London, about the way the people on the street turned their noses up at him or muttered in low, cultured accents behind his back that set his teeth on edge and made him want to really give them something to talk about.

It was Hermann’s fault. Yeah, Hermann was certifiably German, but his accent and mannerisms were definitely influenced by this place. Well, this, and another place. Something he’d started seeing when he fell asleep at night. It made him wake in a cold sweat, limbs shaky and breathing staccato. The details always managed to escape him, but that world, whatever the hell it was, freaked him out worse than what he’d seen beyond the breach.

Since they’d gotten to London, Newton had spent a lot of time avoiding Hermann. And, for whatever reason – Newton didn’t care to consider it too closely – Hermann let him. The one thing, the single blessed thing about this place, was that he had his own lab. It was a few blocks worth of walking from the fancy flat that had been waiting for them when they reached the city two weeks ago, but it was his. There was no line dissecting the space into halves, no chalk dust to contaminate his samples, and the only people who ever complained about how loud he played his music were the shop owners next door. He didn’t ask how his samples had been brought in or how Hermann had gotten them out. He didn’t thank him, either.

So while Hermann spent his days doing whatever the hell he’d been doing since they arrived, Newton spent his in the lab, setting up experiments and making notes. And by the end of the second week, he had some interesting information to work with, and he was getting pretty damn good at pretending the silence in the room didn’t bother him. When it felt like it might, he’d just turn his music up and drown the quiet corners in punk and metal.

He’d gotten so used to the routine, to narrowing himself in that lab to notice only the music and his work, that when the noise cut itself off one afternoon, he jerked and dropped his scalpel.

“Well, it is good to know that your more irritating working behaviors are consistent. I had begun to believe you played this garbage just to spite me.”

Newton glanced across the room, feeling his expression pulling into a frown. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Hermann’s cane was new. There were designs carved into the handle, intricate things that swirled down over the staff, and when he moved, the light caught on the threads of gold snaking through the artistic crevices. It made a sharper sound than his last cane had when he walked across the room.

“Honestly, Newton, I do own it. And it’s only sensible to check up on the things I own once in a while.”

They weren’t talking about the lab.

Newton pretended they were.

“Yeah, it’s not a bad space,” he offered, casual, off the cuff, and he shrugged a little for effect before ducking to pick up the scalpel. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve had matters to attend to.”

Newton snorted and tossed the scalpel aside before stripping his gloves off. “No, please, don’t bore me with the details.”

The cane was a firm pressure against the side of his jaw a moment later, and he dug his teeth together, glowering by the time his face was directed around to look at Hermann. Something he’d been effectively avoiding for two weeks. Hermann had that annoying bemused expression on his face again. It was the way someone watched a dog trying to catch their own tail.

“I believe this has gone on quite long enough,” Hermann stated.

But Newton wasn’t in the mood to roll over and play placid today. He leaned his head to the side, away from Hermann’s cane, and lifted a hand to shove it away from his head. “Yeah? What’s that, Hermann?” he asked, moving towards the table where he’d set up his microscopes. He stumbled to a halt, however, when something jerked him to a stop at the hip, and it took him a baffled, flailing moment to make sure he had his balance and to figure out what the hell was going on. Hermann’s stupid cane was hooked through a loop on his jeans, but at least he looked more irritated than bemused now.

And he knew that wasn’t really a good sign. The pain in his face was gone, but he remembered it. He remembered the things he’d seen in the Drift and the jagged pieces of things from his dreams that he knew, _knew_ belonged in Hermann’s head, not his. But Newton had never been good at containing himself. It was a miracle he’d made it as long as he had, but he was on thin ice with his own composure. His good judgment was already falling to the wayside in favor of emotion.

“Something you want, man?” he demanded, turning his chin up stubbornly. “Might as well spit it out, Hermann. I mean, I gotta be honest here. Getting real tired of this pussy footing around.”

It definitely wasn’t his brightest moment.

Something dark and angry passed over Hermann’s face. It was a look he’d seen a few times over the last ten years. A shadow that crossed over all those sharp features until he took a breath, composed himself, and either took the high road of ignoring him or started in on a particularly solid line of high volume arguments. Neither of those things happened today.

Hermann’s fingers tightened around the end of the cane, and when he jerked his arm, it was with enough strength that Newton stumbled again, this time towards him, and this time without managing to get his feet steady fast enough. He grunted when he hit the floor, because fuck, it was concrete and be banged his knee. But he didn’t have a lot of time to consider that before Hermann unhooked his cane and turned it over, taking it properly by the handle so he could dig the end against the back of Newton’s shoulder.

It was more uncomfortable than painful, and Newton shrugged his shoulder hard, trying to dislodge the damn thing and get back onto his feet. “Hermann, I am not doing this shit with y- _fuck_!” he yelped, when the cane came down hard, straight across the back of both of his shoulders, and it was enough to upset his balance and send him back onto his knees.

Hermann took two steps closer before setting the end of the cane against his back and pushing, hard, until pain flared under that point, and Newton bowed over. He didn’t stop pushing until Newton had his face pressed against the floor, hands flattened out near his shoulders where he’d tried, briefly, to brace himself.

“As I said, Newton,” Hermann began, frowning down his nose at him. “I believe this has gone on for quite enough.”

This time, Newton was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The toe of Hermann’s shoe was only a few inches away from his face, and he’d been kicked in the face before, back in fifth grade. Broke his nose. He really, really didn’t want to encourage Hermann to kick him in the face. Assuming, of course, he wasn’t already planning on doing that.

“See? You’re already learning,” Hermann continued in a tone of voice that would have made Newton punch him in the knee if his back wasn’t still throbbing dully.

The cane did finally lift from his back, then, and Hermann’s shoes strode several steps away. Newton lifted his head a little to keep him in his line of sight, frowning when Hermann took the chair from his desk and drew it over. He arranged the chair directly in front of him, so when Hermann took a seat, his feet were once again within a few inches of Newton’s head. Rather than shove him back down onto the concrete, however, Hermann set the end of his cane under his chin, and guided his head up until he was forced to push back up onto his knees.

“I had come by to bring you something, you know,” Hermann offered conversationally as he drew the cane back, casually turning it over in his hands before reaching out with the hooked handle again. He caught Newton by the tie that time, using the fashion statement to pull forward, forcing Newton to hobble forward awkwardly on his knees – _ow,_ dammit – less he fall on his face again. He was kneeling directly between Hermann’s thighs when his tie was released.

Newton glanced after the thing when Hermann wrapped his fingers around the handle and balanced the end against the floor again. “…What?” he ventured after a few minutes of silence that didn’t seem to bother Hermann in the slightest.

“A gift, I suppose. Although I’m beginning to regret the trouble I went through to acquire it for you.”

He frowned up at him. Honestly, he had no idea what to make of that. Hermann wasn’t exactly the gift-giving type, and yeah, that definitely didn’t make up for whatever the fuck this was going on now.

Hermann, however, didn’t seem to care that Newton didn’t respond. Long, thin fingers slid into his hair, and Newton froze. Fingertips skimmed lightly against his scalp, and when they curled, grasping strands, it was a light grip, just a bit of pressure on his head. “You’ll have to make up for it, won’t you?”

Newton could hear blood pounding in his ears. His throat was tight and dry, and he sat there, still, for several moments before shaking his head in Hermann’s grasp. And he expected a few reactions from Hermann for it, but not the way his fingers uncurled and cupped against his skull, fingertips close enough to skim over the back of his ear, grazing just enough to incite a shiver.

“I have been inside your head, Newton,” Hermann pointed out patiently, tracing the shell of his ear with a cool fingertip, running the touch down the side of his neck and back up again. When Newton didn’t respond, he brought his hand around to cup his jaw, tipping his head back and drawing the pad of his thumb around the downset curve of Newton’s lower lip. “And here I am, giving you what you’ve been wanting for years.”

Newton’s skin felt hot uncomfortable, and he didn’t like the way it was tingling where Hermann’s fingers passed. “Things change,” he offered shortly, hating how his voice stuck over two simple words.

“They do,” Hermann agreed, curling his fingers under Newton’s chin, tapping his knuckle there a few times until Newton forced himself to glance up at his face. He wished whatever glamor Hermann had been wearing while they worked together had been different. That he hadn’t looked so much like himself. That was really the worst part.

Eventually, Newton decided he really didn’t want to be battered with anything again. It wasn’t giving in, he told himself. He wasn’t giving up. He was just biding his time. Better to do that without any more bruises, right?

“There you are, Darling,” Hermann sighed, stroking his fingers through Newton’s hair when he slid his mouth down over him. The touch was deceptively gentle, and the pleased lilt to his voice fell so fucking close to what Newton had always imagined it might when he’d thought about him, usually in the midst of rubbing one out in any of the multitude of uncomfortable bunks he’d slept on over the last decade. Steadier, sure, lacking in the endearing tremors Newton had created in his own head. But that was fine. Whatever. He just took on the tremors instead and pressed his eyes shut when his vision swam.

Knuckles and long, cool fingers brushed his cheeks dry, and Newton coughed a few times when Hermann came against the back of his tongue.

He climbed unsteadily onto his feet after Hermann had straightened his suit and taken the desk chair back where it belonged. It turned out, there was a gift. Hermann placed a call, and five minutes later, large men were maneuvering a large tank into his lab. They placed it where Hermann directed and left again without a word. If he hadn’t watched their entire stay in the room, mostly to avoid looking in Hermann’s direction, Newton wasn’t sure he’d have believed they had been there at all.

“I will see you back at the flat, Newton.”  
  
He listened to the steady, sharp tap of Hermann’s cane as he left, and the back of his shoulder throbbed weakly in time with the noise. He was more vaguely aware of the door falling shut, silence flooding into the lab without the pulse of his music to chase it away. Newton eventually broke the silence with a long, cracking breath, left alone with a bitter taste in his mouth and a massive, severed kaiju heart floating in its tank.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry. I have no idea what I'm doing. This is getting out of hand. 
> 
> If you're into tumblr, you can find me there at [snowfell.tumblr.com](http://snowfell.tumblr.com/). I promise I'm not usually this dark?


End file.
